


Get What You Need

by raelee514



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-25 00:06:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raelee514/pseuds/raelee514
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He turned to face the crowd, the throng of male bodies in front of him, standing around the bar, dancing on the crowded floor. Dean searched for what he was looking for, hard eyes blown by lust, strong arms, strong shoulders, someone hopefully bigger and stronger than him. Someone he didn’t want, someone that was all wrong, because what Dean wanted wasn’t the point. What Dean wanted he’d never have, and he didn’t deserve him anyway. Especially now, with more innocent young blood on his hands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get What You Need

**Author's Note:**

> Written eons ago for the[ King Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/) prompt Punishment/Penance.

Dean’s skin felt too tight across his bones, his bones felt too sharp against the inside of his skin, the air felt hard against his skin; it was cold but he barely felt it. He’d taken off his jacket and flannel, tossed them in the backseat of the Impala leaving him in nothing but a too thin over-worn gray T-shirt and his jeans. He thought maybe the cold sharp air of the February night in Minnesota would help him to feel something besides self-hatred. 

It didn’t work.

He could still hear her voice, Tania Walken, sixteen years old, a big sister, brave and so stupid. He could still hear her cries, her fear, her scream. It rang in his ears, it echoed through his skull. Tania shouldn’t have been in that condemned old haunted house, she was only there to get her sister, take her home -- keep her safe. The floor gave out, it was the attic, there was nothing but rotten wood and sharp nails underneath. He’d flattened out, he’d caught her by her wrist, he’d had her in his grip. 

She’d fallen through it.

Tears prickled at the edges of his lower lids, they hurt, but it wasn’t enough pain. Like the cold, it wasn’t enough, he wiped at his eyes, squared his shoulders and walked to the bar. As he walked inside the air changed from crisp winter cold, to stuffy, smoky, sweaty body-made heat. The bar was full, the music too loud, bodies were a mass of one dancing to its staccato beat. Dean pushed his way through the crowd too roughly, bumping purposely into as many men as he could, hitting elbows and didn’t getting hit in return. No one complained though, hands hit his ass, grabbed his shoulders, Dean felt crowded. He hated it; it was why he was there. 

He made his way to the bar, pushed his palms flat against the sticky surface, when the bartender caught his eye he asked for double bourbon straight and to keep them coming. Dean drank four in a row, the liquid burning his throat but it wasn’t hard enough of a burn. It never was. 

He turned to face the crowd, the throng of male bodies in front of him, standing around the bar, dancing on the crowded floor. Dean searched for what he was looking for, hard eyes blown by lust, strong arms, strong shoulders, someone hopefully bigger and stronger than him. Someone he didn’t want, someone that was all wrong, because what Dean wanted wasn’t the point. What Dean wanted he’d never have, and he didn’t deserve him anyway. Especially now, with more innocent young blood on his hands. 

A voice came at him from the side, Dean startled, he was off his game -- good, he deserved to be blindsided. “Dance,” the voice said, didn’t ask and Dean closed his eyes in relief as rough calloused hand bigger than his grabbed him by the belt and pulled him to the dance floor without waiting for compliance. 

 

Dean supposed he’d given it with his quiet relief; he felt himself pressed against the bigger man, his back to the man’s front, an erection pushing against his ass -- promising  
possible pain. Dean ground his ass against it, the man groaned into Dean’s ear and tightened his grip on Dean’s hips, fingers pressed sharply into his skin. It wasn’t enough but it could be, Dean hoped. 

“Get off of him,” a voice shouted, reverberated through Dean’s haze, through his hope for pain, and the bigger man was pulled away from Dean. Where his hard touch had been there was only an echo left. There was not even the hope of a bruise. 

Dean blinked, stared, Castiel stood, angry, his power making his voice deeper, louder, as he shouted an order to the tall, wide man Dean had been grinding his ass against. “Stay away.”

Then Castiel’s hand was on his forehead and the bar was gone. Dean didn’t care where they were, where Castiel had taken him; he was pissed, angry, and needing something that he’d been so close to getting. He pushed Castiel hard, it didn’t even budge the angel, he stayed close, up in Dean’s personal space. Staring at him in confusion and worry. It made Dean livid, he didn’t deserve it. Never deserved it. “What the fuck, Cas, what are you doing!”

“I could ask the same, Dean,” Castiel said moving in even closer. “You wanted that man to hurt you, why?”

Dean laughed, it hit his own ears sounding bitter and empty. “Because I like it. Nothing beats getting fucked hard, Cas.”

Castiel’s head tilted, eyes widening, Dean swallowed against the stare, uncomfortable, embarrassment flooding him, arousal surging through his veins; it was the wrong kind of pain he thinks. It wasn’t physical, not a sharp cutting burn, it was too real. It wasn’t what he wanted. “You seek punishment for the girl’s death, you want to be harmed?” 

“Send me back to the bar, Cas,” Dean said, his voice breaking, his eyes on the ground; he couldn’t look at Castiel. It hurt to much in all the wrong ways, the bad ways, the ways that were muddled and confusing. That reminded him he was all wrong, not good enough, he wanted to forget for a moment, he wanted to hurt and bleed and feel the sting of physical pain because that was what he deserved for failing. There were times he missed Alistair, his rusty razors, his sharp nails, the bruising rhythm, his knowledge of Dean’s dirty’s secrets. The rack had been a relief for more years than Dean cared to admit -- another thing he carried, another thing he never said. 

“No.” 

 

It was said softly, low but Dean heard the conviction, the finality of it and he lost his embarrassment, forgot his vulnerability and just felt anger, and the need to get what he wanted. He wanted pain, he wanted a burn, and he wasn’t going to let Castiel stop him. “Not really your call, Cas,” Dean snapped, moving forward, trying to walk around  
the angel, taking in his surroundings for the first time. It was an alley, closed in walls from two buildings, dirty, cold air, and Dean realized he could hear the familiar beat of crappy dance music. Castiel hadn’t taken him far at all. Good. Castiel wouldn’t let him pass, he moved, made his slender frame appear bigger than it was. Dean smelled power, it burned in his nostrils. “Fuck, Cas, let me go.”

“No.” Again it was soft, but definitive. An order.

Dean punched without thought, hit Castiel square in the jaw. It was the pain he’d wanted, it was sharp, burning, it vibrated through him, because he’d just hit solid marble, a statue. Something cleared inside of Dean, the pain is perfect and good so he punched again, his arm swinging back to bruise. And maybe he hoped to break his hand, he thought he may have already broken fingers, but then Castiel wrapped his hand around Dean’s wrist.

“Stop.” The shout reverberated, the angel underneath the human voice, gravel and rocks. Dean was already aroused, always too aroused around Castiel, always having to bury it down. And here desperate to be rammed, to be burned, Dean’s arousal flared harder and hotter than ever. 

“Cas, please,” Dean heard himself, he sounded pathetic, needy, everything that he knew he was and didn’t want to be. Dean wasn’t even sure what he was asking Castiel for then. To be allowed to break his hand, to be allowed back into the bar, to find those rough big hands again that promised to hurt him as they’d dug into his hips. “Cas,” he whispered again. 

Castiel tightened his grip on Dean’s wrist. Dean closed his eyes, reveling in the pain. Castiel growled, his free hand came up and planted against Dean’s chest. He slammed Dean against the alley wall. Dean moaned as rough bricks cut into his skin through his shirt. Castiel growled again, grabbing the collar of Dean’s shirt, pulling Dean forward, creating less than an inch of space between them. “Open your eyes, Dean.”

Dean opened his eyes and felt trapped in Castiel’s hard stare. Blue eyes were nearly black, Castiel’s face hard; it was more intense than any other Cas stare he’d ever been on the receiving end of -- and there had been a lot. Dean moaned again. “Cas.”

Castiel pushed him harder against the wall, making the bricks cut deeper into his back. “This is what you want Dean, punishment?”

“Please,” Dean whimpered.

 

“You’re praying for this, with your soul, it’s harrowing to be witness to it, Dean.” As he spoke Castiel manhandled Dean, turned him around, and Dean found his palms scrapping against the bricks. Castiel used a thought to undo Dean’s jeans, then ripped them down. “This is what you want?” Castiel asked again, pushing three fingers into Dean’s asshole, sudden, burning pain.

“Yes,” Dean moaned, his voice broken, hoarse, pleading. “More, please, Cas, please.”

Castiel thrust roughly with his fingers, in a hard bruising rhythm pulling nearly all the way out before shoving back in, ripping Dean apart, creating that perfect burn -- almost too perfect of a burn, Dean moaned, pushing his ass back, wanting to be fucked harder and harder by Castiel’s hand. 

But then Castiel started to talk. “This isn’t right Dean. This isn’t how this should be. I shouldn’t be hurting you.”

“Yes, harder,” Dean argued, trying not to listen to the gentleness of Castiel’s low voice in his ear, he just wanted the hard hand in his ass. “Want it Cas, need...”

“No.” Castiel argued, but his hand kept finger-fucking Dean. “Not what you need. You need to see this.”

Castiel’s fingers hit Dean’s prostate, stars filled Dean’s head but as they vanished his minds eye was filled with faces, a series of faces. At first he didn’t realize what he was seeing, then he recognized some, faces of people he hadn’t failed.

Castiel’s fingers fucked his prostate hard and relentless as he spoke, low and gentle. “These are the people you saved, but not just them -- their children, their grandchildren, generations of families to come, all the people you were meant to save and did save. Too many to count Dean; you have saved more lives than you haven’t. You may never believe this, but I am showing it to you now because this is what you need. To remember, you are a righteous man, you saved the world from Lucifer, from angels, demons. You kept choice alive, and millions of lives will go on.” 

The last face Dean saw as he came against the wall was Castiel’s, his voice was broken glass as he yelled out the angel’s name. “Cas!” And Castiel pulled his hand free his hand, yanked Dean around and crushed his lips to Dean’s. 

Dean kissed back, it was rough and gentle somehow all at once, it was desperate and right. It was more than anything Dean ever thought he could get,and he sobbed into it, sobbed harder when it ended with his face in Castiel’s neck. The faces of too many people floated in his mind, as he tried to understand what the hell just happened, a part of him needing to believe Castiel. “I saved them all?”

“As of this moment, yes, this time next week you will have saved more.”

 

Dean shook, his mind unable to wrap around it. “I don’t...”

Castiel ran his hands down Dean’s back, healing the cuts from the brick, over his ass, mending the tears he’d created, he broke their hug only to pull up Dean’s pants and grabbed Dean’s hands. He kissed away the broken skin there. “I’ll keep reminding you. No more searching for punishment in dangerous places.”

Dean collapsed against Castiel again, holding on tight. “Only you can punish me, okay.”

“I’ll give you forgiveness, always.” Castiel corrected.


End file.
